


My Guiding Light (Through Your Darkness)

by D20Owlbear



Series: 12 Days of Blasphemy [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 12 days of blasphemy, Aziraphale Has a Penis (Good Omens), Aziraphale is not a human no matter how much he pretends to be, Bottom Crowley (Good Omens), Cherub Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Hunted Crowley (Good Omens), Inhuman Aziraphale, M/M, Other, PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rated E for the US Postal Service, The Inherent Tenderness of Crying When You Climax With Your Hereditary Enemy While In Love, Top Aziraphale (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-16
Updated: 2019-12-16
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:20:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21812824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/D20Owlbear/pseuds/D20Owlbear
Summary: Aziraphale’s moods were as easy to read as the Eastern Star for Crowley, even if he didn’t know quite what they meant until they got there.Day 2: Eastern Star
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: 12 Days of Blasphemy [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1570819
Comments: 33
Kudos: 257
Collections: 12 Days of Blasphemy, Top Aziraphale Recs





	My Guiding Light (Through Your Darkness)

**Author's Note:**

> [Original Tumblr Post for 12 Days of Blasphemy](https://d20owlbear.tumblr.com/post/189657866148/12-days-of-blasphemy)
> 
> Feel free to join! We'd love more!

“Yggk–” Crowley choked out a throaty sound as his eyes rolled back and his spine arched. Aziraphale’s hand was in his hair and the angel gently shushed him as he panted for air he didn’t need but couldn’t quite remember how to tell his body that. Crowley whined out a high-pitched keen and his mouth fell open in an attempt to catch the breath that had fled him entirely at the sight of Aziraphale licking his fingers clean of Crowley’s cum. 

Crowley wasn’t entirely sure how he’d gotten here, but he bloody well wasn’t going to look this gift horse in the mouth.

Every so often Aziraphale would get into a  _ mood _ . As unpredictable as the Bethlehem Star’s appearance but a guide once he’d caught sight of it. Today was one of those days. He’d watch Crowley intently with a look that spoke of wanting to devour the demon and it never failed to make the hair on the nape of his neck stand on end and shoot lightning down his spine. Before now, Aziraphale had always disappeared soon after Crowley started walking on his toes, muscles forced languid and ready to bolt at any second and Crowley could breathe a sigh of relief. 

In the past, exactly once, Crowley had tried to make up for whatever he’d done to turn Aziraphale’s mood sour but it had only elicited a growl from the cherub (Crowley would deny to his dying breath that he’d been cowed, he’d also deny how wet his inner thighs had gotten with arousal) and Crowley losing track of Aziraphale for nearly a decade. The 1790s had been a fraught time to be sure, though he did hear later the US Post Office was founded then and, considering what he knew of the Pony Express he wouldn’t be surprised if there were a few angel-fingers sticking into that pie... 

That being said, this time when his angel got a bit testy and put Crowley onto his back foot and set his instincts screaming at him to run away or be eaten, he knew better. So Crowley pretended nothing was happening and like he didn’t keep his front to Aziraphale at all times and like he had no problems at all so he certainly had no reason to watch Aziraphale intently through his dark sunglasses and ignore the fact that Aziraphale was watching him far more intently.

Until today. Crowley was walking on the balls of his feet, it didn’t look all that odd since he’d learned through the years that Aziraphale was less likely to notice (ha! Aziraphale not noticing something with all of his many eyes trained on Crowley, hilarious!) if he bent his knees a little to do so and kept his heels just  _ barely _ off the ground. It made him look like he was walking toe-heel instead of the proper opposite, but that was leagues better than looking like he was half-way to making a run for it.

Crowley had a sinking feeling that if he’d tried to flee Aziraphale would have followed. Three of the four heads the cherub had weren’t apex predators without a reason. Crowley, as a snake, was certainly not an apex predator, despite his Brobdingnagian size he was still just a snake and snakes were used to being hunted just as often as they were used to being the hunter. And Crowley rarely felt as hunted as he did around Aziraphale sometimes, not even all the Dukes of Hell could match the single-minded intensity of a cherub, the Guardian of the Eastern Gate of Eden, the angel who gave away his sword which became the symbol of War. His Aziraphale.

Today was what Crowley would have thought Aziraphale’s breaking point would be, he showed all the usual signs of agitation – tapping his toes, scratching at his wrists, licking and occasionally biting at his lips like he were about to eat but holding himself back for politeness’ sake, and the big indicator of standing stock still. Aziraphale was still by nature, calm and cool and collected nearly always, when he wasn’t in a tizzy at least. But this was different, somehow. This was an unnatural stillness, his corporation didn’t breathe, it didn’t blink, and the angel didn’t even shift his feathers in the ethereal plane. He’d stand like that for hours, as long as Crowley was in the same room and within line of sight. It was easiest to just sit and fiddle with a book or his phone quietly and let it pass until Aziraphale was willing to play-act at being a human again. 

Currently, Aziraphale was staring. Crowley was on the couch, sipping at an amaretto stone sour cocktail he’d stolen with a snap off of some poor, confused bartender’s lineup from across the city. He held his phone loosely in his hand playing candy crush, pretending for all the world he was unaffected. His jaw tensed tighter and tighter with every tinny sound of crushed candy until he felt like a rubber band about to snap with the weight of Aziraphale’s gaze on him. And then Aziraphale moved and Crowley could breathe again, at least until the angel forgot again (something, forgot something, perhaps the fact that he liked to put on a sweet, gentle human facade).

But then Aziraphale deviated. Crowley froze when Aziraphale placed a hand so softly on his shoulder he could barely feel it except for how it electrified him straight through to his soul. Crowley couldn’t do anything but let himself be turned with the lightest touch of a finger curled under his chin and he surely couldn’t do anything but let his eyelids flutter shut behind dark glasses and melt like fresh mercury into Aziraphale’s hands as the angel pulled him closer and angled him up for a kiss so deep he felt devoured and flayed raw.

Crowley gasped as Aziraphale pulled away slowly, lips tantalizing and temptingly swollen with desperate kisses, and spoke so quietly Crowley was surprised he heard it at all. “Tell me no.” It was a test. It was an attempt to be fair. It was an offer to let him go. And Crowley didn’t want anything to do with it.

“Never.” Because Crowley had already been caught between the lion’s jaws, had already been pinned down by storm-grey stares, had already been ripped apart and put back together by hands gentle enough to hold dandelion puffs without damaging them, and he never wanted to be anywhere else but between Aziraphale’s palms. Aziraphale growled in response, a deep thing that rumbled through Crowley’s bones, eliciting a full-body shiver from him and a moan he couldn’t tamp down in time. He froze again as storm-dark eyes met his own, even through the glasses, and Aziraphale took his mouth again in rough, biting kisses, separating only once more and only for exactly enough time for him to move around the couch and sit beside Crowley.

Aziraphale grew impatient quickly, however, and pulled Crowley sideways and into his lap, one hand snaking up Crowley’s back to tangle in the riot of sunset-red curls at the base of his neck and  _ grip _ . It drew another moan from Crowley, who threw his head back in pleasure, and yet another throaty moan fell from Crowley’s lips when Aziraphale bit into his neck, almost hard enough to make him bleed - even with Aziraphale’s human-blunt teeth. Crowley’s head was swimming, his painted-on pants were tight enough to be uncomfortable, he had no idea what he should be doing with his hands, and he wasn’t even sure if he was allowed to be thinking anymore considering how hard it was to do. 

“Aziraphale,” Crowley panted, drawing out every vowel in the angel’s name as Crowley writhed in his lap, silently pleading for anything Aziraphale would give him.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale replied back, sounding entirely unaffected except for the growl in his voice. Crowley moaned again, he couldn’t help it, not when he could  _ feel _ the rumble through Aziraphale’s chest against his shoulder and how it vibrated through him and shook up his soul. “Tell me to stop.” Aziraphale said again.

“Neh-never.” Crowley gasped in reply, his hips stuttering involuntarily, drawing Aziraphale’s gaze downward. The angel licked his lips and Crowley groaned brokenly, finally understanding just  _ what _ had been happening with Aziraphale today in his  _ mood _ . The demon spread his legs in silent invitation, unable to contribute coherent words anymore, one foot up on the sofa and knee propped up against the back of it and the other foot fell to the ground and his thigh hooked over Aziraphale’s knee. This had the unfortunate side-effect of intensifying the pressure of his jeans over his cock so that he nearly wept in relief when Aziraphale’s free hand darted between Crowley’s thighs to free him of the impediment. 

Crowley actually wept, great, loud sobs ripped from his lungs when Aziraphale’s hand wrapped around his cock. Skin on delicious skin, already wet with leaking precome, Crowley’s hips jerked again and he moaned once more with gusto. “Azira– Angel, ‘m not gonna–” Crowley was cut off with another soul-searing kiss as Aziraphale twisted his wrist  _ just so _ and languidly pumped his fist around Crowley’s cock. If he hadn’t already had tears streaming down his face from the sheer  _ feeling _ of it all (and who knew finally being touched by an angel would feel so good) he’d have started crying now for the sheer lack of relief from the fires in his veins threatening to swallow him whole.

Aziraphale ramped up the speed of his hand around Crowley, adjusting the angle at which they kissed with the hand in Crowley’s hair, even as he let Crowley fuck up into his fist and allowed Crowley to grip at the back of the couch tightly enough to crack the wood. Crowley’s sharp moans echo through the bookshop, juxtaposed with the rumbling of thunder in Aziraphale’s chest shaking the windows like too-hot summers wobble the air with mirages.

Crowley, if he could think at all at the moment, would think to himself that this better not  _ be _ a mirage. He’d also think that a mirage could never feel this blessedly good. He’d be right.

Instead, he screams Aziraphale’s name as he comes, rivulets of his essence running over Aziraphale’s knuckles and dripping down his cock when Aziraphale’s hand leaves his heated, still-throbbing flesh. 

“Yggk–” Crowley choked out, spine arching as Aziraphale pulled away from oversensitive skin. The angel gently shushed him as he panted for air he didn’t need but couldn’t quite remember how to tell his body that. Crowley whined and his mouth fell open at the sight of Aziraphale eyeing his hand before bringing his fingers to his rose-pink lips, a flat red tongue covered in hooks like a lion darted out to lick his fingers clean of Crowley’s cum. 

“Angel…” Crowley breathed reverently, “Fuck, Angel.”

“Tell me no.” Aziraphale murmured, sucking one of his fingers into his mouth, past full lips and caressed with a rough tongue, wrenching yet another breathy groan from Crowley.

“Never.”


End file.
